


All I Want

by HoopyFrood



Category: Dream Daddy: A Dad Dating Simulator
Genre: Bonding, Developing Relationship, Feelings, Gen, M/M, Pizza, Pre-Slash, acquaintances to friends
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-25
Updated: 2017-07-25
Packaged: 2018-12-06 11:21:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11599596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HoopyFrood/pseuds/HoopyFrood
Summary: Robert doesn’t like small talk, Craig just wants a bit of peace and quiet.





	All I Want

Craig has always possessed the weird and quite frankly _terrifying_ ability to make Robert actually want to engage in small talk.

Maybe it’s because Craig offers his silence so freely. You never need to break out the unsubtle, disinterested ‘uh-huhs’ and ‘hmms’ or pointed glares to get Craig to shut up because there’s never any reason to in the first place.

Regardless, it puts Robert on edge because Robert _really doesn't like to talk_.

Leaning against the snack table in the newbie’s garden, and he should _really_ stop thinking of him as the newbie sometime soon, Robert once again feels the need to say something, _anything_. Craig’s looking helplessly over the various mac and cheese options, seemingly waging a war within himself over whether to have a cheat day or not. He’d nodded once to Robert in greeting after wandering over, a small smile gracing his lips as he did so, but has remained otherwise quiet.

“You know,” Robert begins and vaguely sees Craig turn towards him out of the corner of his eye. “I propositioned him the first time I met him,” he admits. And immediately cringes. Christ, it’s as if he can’t physically keep his mouth shut in his presence.

See, that’s another thing about Craig and his supernatural power to make Robert actually want to indulge in small talk. He always ends up saying stupid shit. Cryptid facts, his favourite knife manufacturers, the lost art of whittling… The sort of stuff that, at best, the average person really doesn’t give two craps about and, at worst, immediately labels you as someone they have to warn their kids to stay away from. At least he never stoops so low to comment on the weather. He has _some_ dignity left.

Most of the dad’s know about his more, shall we say, _self-destructive_ tendencies because _of course_ they do, nothing’s sacred in this particular cul-de-sac. Some are more tactful about it than others, and honestly, God fucking bless Damien Bloodmarch and the lack of anything even remotely resembling a judgemental bone in that man’s body, others... not so much. But instead of the usual unimpressed frown or concerned lecture Robert’s come to expect from many of his generally well-meaning neighbours, Craig chuckles lightly and shakes his head. Temporarily abandoning his cheese-based crisis, Craig matches Roberts position against the table, the edge just digging into the small of his back, and crosses his arms.

“Oh, yeah? How’d he take it?”

Robert snorts. “Hell, you went to college with him, so all I’m going to say is _about as well as you’d imagine_.”

Craig laughs to the point where he’s almost bent completely over at the waist. Robert grins helplessly, suddenly feeling a little self-conscious about the handful of interested gazes that suddenly swing their way. “I didn’t know a human being could turn that red,” he ends up adding purely to keep those pretty eyes crinkled attractively at the corners.

“Yeah, dude was never good with that sort of thing,” Craig agrees once he’s calmed down enough to run a hand through his hair in an attempt to smooth it back into its pre-belly laugh style.

Robert looks over to where the man in question has his arm looped around Mat’s waist, the pair of them happily leaning into each other as they talk to Hugo. “I think he’d agree with me when I say it was probably the best decision he’s ever made.”

Craig hums in agreement. “Seeing the two of them like that, it makes me wonder what could have been, though, you know?”

Robert turns to him in surprise, eyebrows raised. Robert knows all about the legend that is Keg-Stand Craig and was quietly impressed when he first found out that his fitness obsessed neighbour had more wild in him than he previously thought. But this? Well, colour him genuinely shocked.

“No shit?”

Craig shrugs and rubs the back of his head in embarrassment. “Never seemed like the right time. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not like, harbouring any feelings towards him now, but jeez, I had the biggest crush on him at college,” he admits. “But then I met Ashley and, well, yeah.”

Robert tries to picture Craig in Mat’s place. Sure, it fits _aesthetically_ speaking, they're both good looking guys, but he just can’t associate that sweet, besotted smile that has been lighting up newbie’s face more and more recently with anyone other than Mat.

“His loss.”

Craig rolls his eyes and lightly hip-checks him. “It’s cool. I have my kids, my business, my health. And now I have my best bud back, too. Can’t complain.”

Robert eyes him critically and notices that his fingers are digging a little too tightly into his biceps, the fabric of his shirt puckering from the pressure.

“You can,” Robert states simply. “All that,” he waves his hand around in an all-encompassing gesture, “isn’t a prerequisite to being truly content, you know. You can still want more.”

Craig stares at him, uncharacteristically intense. 

Ah, shit.

Too heavy for a party thrown by a mutual friend for his teenage daughter? Probably.

Robert opens his mouth to apologise, when—

“Fancy getting out of here for a bit?” Craig interrupts before he can make things worse and subsequently have to make a quick exit to go drink away the awkwardness.

Robert gapes for perhaps a second too long before eventually shutting his mouth with an audible click.

“Wait, seriously? You’re willing to ditch a kid’s graduation party?”

“I’m not suggesting we elope or something, bro. I just need a breather. And I imagine this isn’t really your sort of scene, anyway.”

“I am shocked and appalled that you’d think this _isn’t_ my idea of a good time,” Robert replies, utterly deadpan.

Craig laughs again and Robert’s stomach swoops. That’s twice he’s made him laugh now. He clears his throat. “What about the girls?” he adds, voice a little rougher than usual.

Craig gestures over to where River’s snuggled up against newbie’s chest, contentedly sucking on one perfect little thumb. “You would not believe the amount of times he’s already offered to babysit. And the twins will be okay. The more I’m out of their hair the better as far as they’re concerned. So, what do you say?”

Robert’s heart stutters awkwardly in his chest, never usually on the receiving end of such spontaneity. “Sure.”

“Cool. Be right back.”

Robert watches Craig jog over to the happy couple, his eyes straying downwards once or twice to appreciate the view. They chat for a bit, easy and familiar, before newbie looks up and gives him a little wave which he half-heartedly returns. Craig then kisses River tenderly on the head and makes his way towards the twins, the two of them bracketing Amanda on either side as she shows them something on her phone. They briefly acknowledge him, both offering a fist bump, before he finally comes back over.

“All good,” he assures him with a dorky thumbs up before eagerly beginning to herd Robert out of the side gate with a large, warm hand on the small of his back.

The friendly chatter, childish squeals of delight and clink of glasses all peter out into a distant hum as they leave the garden and walk round to the front of the house. If he strains his hearing, he can just about make out Brian’s bellowing laughter, but only just.

“So, what do you have in mind?” He asks as casually as he can manage, the lack of a beer stained bar in front of him or the cover of night seriously doing a number on his confidence.

The thing is, if Craig decided to invite him back to his place to mess around, Robert’s not entirely convinced that he’d say no. It would be a _monumentally_ stupid idea, but saying yes to that sort of shit? Well, it’s kind of his default at this point. And it’s not like he’s never thought about it before. Craig is, quite simply, gorgeous. All sculpted muscle and boyish charm wrapped up in one genuinely sweet package. He just never bothered barking up that particular well-toned tree because it never occurred to him that it was even an option. And that was fine, the least amount of people he could drag down with him the better. But now, in this moment? A knot of anxiety pushes up against his diaphragm.

“I need pizza,” Craig states defiantly, puncturing it with a sharp nod. “If I’m going to cheat on my diet, I want to enjoy it. Haven't really been much of a mac and cheese fan since I had it practically every day of my Sophomore year.”

Robert blinks dumbly for a few seconds before guffawing in relief, the choice to no doubt make the _wrong_ decision taken entirely out of his hands. “You’re speaking my language, man,” he says and claps him on the shoulder.

Robert manages to convince Craig they should take his truck even though Pete’s Pizza is within walking distance, citing a need for ‘the full experience of being a normal, lazy person for a change’. Pulling into the parking lot, Robert swipes his wallet off the dash. 

“My treat,” he says, gratified when Craig doesn’t even pretend to protest. He hates all that bullshit.

Jumping out the truck, he comes round to Craig's side and knocks once on the window. "Toppings?" He asks once Craig has fully rolled it down.

“Pineapple,” Craig says decisively. “Having a little bit of fruit will help ease the inevitable guilt that’s sure to raise its ugly head when I wake up in the morning.”

“Guilt means you’re human. Means you’re alive,” Robert counters quickly in attempt to quash down the delight of someone else liking pineapple on their pizza from showing on his face. “And anyway, as if you’re not going to run it all off at 7am sharp.”

“True. You could come with me?” Craig suggests, a small, teasing smile already lifting up the corners of his lips.

“Don’t even joke about that, Cahn,” he growls. Robert then proceeds to walk backwards, maintaining eye contact as he does the international _I’m watching you_ gesture until he reaches the store front and disappears inside.

After fifteen minutes or so, now laden down with one large Hawaiian pizza, some garlic bread, and two cans of chilled Pepsi, Robert makes his way back to the truck to see Craig in the process of laying out a blanket for them in the cargo bed. He clearly doesn’t want to drive around in search of better scenery, seemingly content with florescent lights and beat-up cars, and Robert doesn’t intend to pressure him into it, not when the guy has a baby at home. After all, he remembers what it was like when Val was that age. He could barely convince himself to leave her for a few minutes, let alone hours. Every rare night out he and Marilyn forced themselves to have would begin with making the babysitter recite back to him at least ten different emergency phone numbers.

“These are cool,” Craig says nodding to a few wooden figures Robert must have missed after his last half-hearted clean up. He’s lined them up on the small lip of the cab window. “You make them yourself?”

“Yeah,” Robert says as he climbs up to join him. He places the pizza box between them.

“Awesome. You’re really talented. Just don’t show me your hands otherwise I’ll be struck with the overwhelming urge to whip out some band-aids.”

Robert chuckles and holds his hands up to Craig’s face, splaying his fingers wide so all he can see of the other man is his eyes between the gaps. “Don’t worry; I’m all scarred up. No open wounds here.”

Craig groans and pushes them away. “See, now I just want to go to the nearest drugstore and pick you up some bio-oil or some shit.”

“You think I don’t carry a first aid kit around with me? You wound me, Cahn. I’m a big boy, I can look after myself.”

“Yeah, well, that doesn’t mean you should have to all the time,” Craig replies easily.

They eat in a comfortable silence, both manoeuvring expertly around grabby hands going for the same piece as if this is something they do regularly and have refined to an art form. It isn’t until Craig nudges over the last slice of pizza with a ‘Go ahead, bro’ that Robert realises just how weird this _should_ be, like catching the captain of the football team making out with the loner drop out under the bleachers. They couldn’t be more different. He suddenly thinks of blond hair and a soft, blue sweater that smells of the fresh sea air and grits his teeth. This whole opposites attract rubbish hasn’t been good to him in the past.

“Thanks for this,” Craig says, derailing that particular painful train of thought.

Robert shrugs in attempt to ease out that familiar Joseph-brand of tension in his shoulders. “You suggested it.”

Craig shakes his head. “Nah,” he says cryptically and flops down onto his back, reaching up to cross his arms behind his head to form a makeshift pillow.

Robert eyes the shape of his thighs through the thin, worn material of his sweats, the exposed cut of his hipbones peeking out from above his waistband, the dip of his stomach. He wipes his grease stained fingertips against his jeans, suddenly needing to do something with his hands. What he wouldn’t give for a knife and piece of wood right about now.

“We should hang out more,” Craig suggests out of the blue.

“I told you, there’s no way you’re going to get me to wake up before 3pm to hobble round the neighbourhood just so I can sweat through my underwear.”

“I appreciate the mental image, but that’s not what I meant,” Craig says. “If every now and then you feel the need to whisk me away to ply me with junk food, I… wouldn’t totally hate that. As long as you give me time between to work it all off, of course.”

Craig grins up at him. On anyone else, it’d look like a smirk. A promise.

Robert swallows thickly. “Oh, I see how it is. You’re just using me for my superior slovenly habits, huh?” he tries to jokes. “Learning from the best and all that shit?”

“Your words not mine, bro.”

“Maybe my mom was right, maybe I am a bad influence,” Robert muses dramatically. "Well, someone's gotta teach ya. It's a burden I'm willing to bear," he finishes solemnly, placing a hand over his heart.

“Can’t say I mind the company, either,” Craig says softly. “The peace and quiet makes a nice change.”

God, he looks so goddamn _young_ like this, laying down in the back of Robert’s truck among discarded pizza crusts and soda cans.

Throwing caution to the wind, Robert lies down next to him so they’re both looking up at the same flickering street lap. His back won't thank him tomorrow, the moth-eaten blanket barely cushioning the ridged metal beneath them, but the feeling of Craig pressed firmly against his side is a pleasant distraction, his warmth enough to make him think 'ah, screw it, you only live once'.

“I’d like that,” he eventually replies, slow and cautious.

Craig exhales as if he had been holding his breath. “Cool.”

Huh.

It turns out Robert doesn’t feel that overwhelming urge to talk to Craig when they’ve already said everything they’ve needed to. Who knew?


End file.
